Life will prevail
by thisisnotmybeautifulhouse
Summary: Even the Capitol cannot stop a young woman's menstrual cycle. This idea was sparked by a piece written by PeetaKatnissluver. Rated T for suggestive undertones and the facts of life.


**So, PeetaKatnissluver wrote a piece about Katniss falling prey to her menstrual cycle in the arena, and then she gave permission for other people to explore this concept. I realize that everyone experiences different things while menstruating, so this is based off of my own cycle, as it's what I know.**

It starts with a dull, yet irritating, ache in my lower back. Considering the searing pain in my forehead, this other discomfort is easy to ignore. Peeta settles into the sleeping bag with me, and if he is surprised by how snuggly I fit my frame against his own, he raises no objections.

A few hours later, I wake us both with my shifting. "Were you having a nightmare?"

Oh, no. The last thing I need is for the rest of the world to think I'm some sniveling child who cannot handle a few bad dreams. It's shockingly easy for the people of the Capitol to forget the strength tributes show at their first sign of weakness. "No," I say hesitantly. "I'm not sure what's wrong." Until I am. That dull ache in my back has deepened in the time we've slept, making it difficult to concentrate, now that I've identified it as the most pressing issue. I debate the merits of saying anything about it to Peeta, and then realize this is a good opportunity to give the sponsors a good show - possibly even enough of a show to give me something that will alleviate the pain. "Actually - Peeta," I trail off for a few beats, embarrassed, yet striving to sound calm and deliberate, "would you mind rubbing my back?"

He's quiet as he considers the implications of this. "You'll need to turn over." I can tell that's not what has him lying so still. I'm not the kind of girl to act overtly seductive, but asking for a back rub strikes even me as a come-on.

Regardless, I roll over, and Peeta lowers his hand to smooth out and relax the muscles of my back. His fingers are strong and thorough, even after enduring the sparsity of the arena, and they promise perfect relief - but they're not where I need them. Inhaling slowly to steady myself, I use one of my hands to guide his and say, "Actually, I need you right there."

He sucks in a sharp breath, but bless him, he keeps rubbing, manfully striving to ignore the fact that, every once in awhile, his fingers brush down below the edges of my pants, tracing the first swell of my bum. Finally, I start to feel the muscles there loosening, and I sigh, letting my head press further into the crook of his neck.

"_Thank you_."

As Peeta swallows roughly and utters, "Katniss-" I give a muffled yelp, because I know now exactly what is wrong with me. My bleeding has started. I scramble up, in spite of the pain from my head wound, as well as the burning discomfort that returns full force to my lower back.

"I'm sorry - I - it's not you," I hasten to reassure him, because Peeta looks bewildered by my behavior, and I don't blame him. To an outsider, this is all very unusual. "I um. I just realized." I finish removing myself from the sleeping bag and then lean forward to whisper in his ear, "I started my cycle."

"Your-?" It takes Peeta a little longer than you might expect; without sisters, he has few opportunities to deal with the reality of the female reproductive cycle. His own mother doesn't count, since she constantly lives in a state of distemper. "Oh. Oh! Alright. Is there anything I can do? Rubbing your back was helping, right?"

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I nod, but then I tell him, "I have to take care of - something - first." Cagily, I glance down at my pants, and this time he catches on much quicker. As I'm searching through our supplies for something to line my underwear, a soft thud can just barely be heard above the sound of the ongoing rain.

I ready the knife Clove so handily supplied me with at the start of the Games and venture out, seeing only a silver parachute. Though it's bulky, it is extremely lightweight. Intrigued, I retrieve it and return to the safety and dryness of the cave. Seeing the gift, Peeta eyes it curiously. "I wonder what that could be."

Shrugging, I set about prying it open, and upon seeing the contents, I slam it shut. "I need a minute. Could you maybe... close your eyes?" Unfortunately, I'm going to have to take care of this in here, because if I try to do it outside the cave, the rain will render this gift less useful. I can only hope that the rest of Panem has more important things to think about than the Girl on Fire using a pad, such as Cato and Thresh. Maybe they're fighting furiously right this minute.

More likely than not, the odds are not in my favor.

"Yeah, sure." He complies, ever the gentleman. I rip open the packaging and place the pad in what must be record time, squirming at the odd feeling of the synthetic fiber. Back home in Twelve, we use old rags when we bleed. It figures that sort of thing would be looked down upon by the people of the Capitol. Which leads me to wonder how Haymitch had divined the nature of my problem. Had a female mentor in the center filled him in, or had it been Effie Trinket, concerned about my image and comfort even now? I decide that I will never know, since I am determined to never discuss this particular incident with Haymitch - or Peeta, for that matter - ever again, and then I slide back into the sleeping bag. Peeta opens his eyes and gazes at me questioningly. When I nod, he eases his hand back to its previous place on my back and resumes the task of messaging my pain away.

My cheeks must be bright enough for the heat in them to show up on the television screens around the country, and I nestle my face into Peeta's neck once more, humiliated. "Of all the things I thought I might have to go through in the arena, this was definitely not among them."

"I can't imagine you're the first girl this has ever happened to in the Games. They probably edit this part out - they'd consider it too 'messy' for public consumption," Peeta speculated, darkly amused.

I snort in disgusted agreement, and then marvel at the way he continues to handle my reactions. Our mutual disrespect for the Capitol is more than enough to distract me from my current problems. All the while, Peeta's hand works to sooth what I now know to be cramps, and I am briefly overwhelmed with gratitude. Thankfully, unlike the bread so many years ago, this is a favor I feel equipt to thank him for. I shift my head slightly and press a chaste kiss to his collarbone, uttering a soft, "Thank you."

Though I have spent the majority of my time in the Games questioning his motives, I cannot possibly doubt his sincerity as he tenderly replies, "Any time."

I drift off with the comforting feeling of Peeta all around me, safe in the knowledge that he will never let me down.


End file.
